


One Question Left

by Lunafeather



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag: S02E11 Hunting Season, F/M, Its Got Feels, Look at it, Porn with Feelings, They Actually Have a Conversation, You Fucked Up Perfectly Good Smut is What You Did
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 15:47:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18814024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunafeather/pseuds/Lunafeather
Summary: What if Beth had taken the last question?





	One Question Left

**Author's Note:**

> I received this as an anon ask on Tumblr, and it spoke to me in that special way only fics can.

His fingers glide softly against her face, brushing her bangs away from her eyes, and he finds his gaze drawn to her mouth as he says, “One question left.”

Her eyes drop to his lips, and she stutters out a breath as they hang in that moment, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. His mouth opens to continue when she murmurs, so softly he almost doesn’t catch it, “Are you going to kiss me or no?”

And he isn’t -- he wasn’t. He was going to lure her in and give her a taste of her own medicine, get her soft and open and wanting and then unceremoniously shove her out. He feels it’s only fair, all things considered. A kind of poetic justice.

But her eyelids are fluttering closed, and she’s rising ever so slightly up onto her toes, and then those piercing blue eyes are open again, pinning him, goading him, beckoning him, and he wasn’t going to, he _wasn’t_ \-- but there he goes, closing the distance between them and crashing his mouth into hers. And maybe it’s rough, and brutal, and harsh, and maybe he’s punishing her a little because damn did it hurt to spend hours in her bed, wrapped in her, buried in her, drinking in those sweet noises of pleasure and reveling in that softness only for her to turn cold and sharp, neatly cutting him out of her life without warning. And maybe he was a little proud and a little startled by just how much like him she had become.

She makes a surprised noise in the back of her throat that melts cleanly into a moan, arching up against him as his hand finds her hair, the other pressing against her lower back until their bodies collide. Her fingers scratch along the nape of his neck, at his shoulder blades, at his spine, clawing him closer, closer, closer still, never close enough.

It was a bad idea, he thinks, to approach her -- he’s realizing that now. He had been snared by her sudden skittishness at being caught breaking into his home, by those wide bambi eyes, by the scent of her perfume filling the air and then his lungs. He had been reeled in by her forced confidence and the stubborn jut of her chin like she belonged in his space, that challenge flashing in her eyes as it always did when they squared off. And he had been tethered by that tension, always present between them, that attraction and that fight and that promise of something deeper.

He had thought he had the upper hand, but here she is, surprising him with every breath he takes. He doesn’t think she knows how badly he’s got it.

She doesn’t waste any time, dragging her tongue along his lower lip until his mouth opens and she’s alternating bites and licks and maybe she knows this is supposed to be punishment, and maybe she knows that it’s too good to ever be that. He growls when one of her hands slides down to grab at his ass, retaliating by grabbing hers back, and he finds himself a little breathless when she giggles in response.

She tears her mouth from his and presses wet kisses along his jaw, scraping her teeth against the angles there, sucking a mark into his skin right below his ear. He shoves at the lapels of her jacket, stripping it from her, and she reciprocates in kind -- and they trade back and forth until they’re both naked and falling onto his bed. He thinks maybe he should have just bent her over his bedside table, made it quick and dirty, but no… He’s seen how far that blush goes and he’s seen the way her bare thighs cradle his hips, and maybe he’s a little addicted to the freckle next to her belly button.

Still, his fingers find her wet and wanting and his patience is thin -- and so is hers, if the way she drags him on top of her and rocks her hips up into his is anything to go by. He sinks into her, hard, desperate, rolling his hips until she’s keening, her head thrashing on the duvet cover. He gets caught up for a moment, mesmerized by the flush on her cheeks and the fan of her lashes, enthralled with the way she bites her lip and hums with pleasure. He feels like he somehow lassoed a goddess from the heavens and enticed her into his bed -- gets the ominous feeling that it’s only a matter of time before the gods reap an unbelievable punishment for his hubris.

She whines when he hesitates just a moment too long. Shaking his head, he meets her heated gaze, ignores the question there. He lowers himself until they are chest to chest and kisses her senseless. They find a steady rhythm together, and he can’t help but slide one hand up to clasp hers, intertwining their fingers. She stutters out a sigh at that, a murmur, and when she comes he swallows her cry, slanting his mouth against hers until he comes apart, too.

They soak in the afterglow for a long while; he pillows his cheek on her breast while her nails drag circles through his short cropped hair. It’s nice. Too nice. He feels the sharp swell of his previous anger and hurt threatening to sweep him up, so he slowly disentangles them and climbs from the bed, disappearing to the bathroom to run a washcloth under the tap. She’s sitting up against the headboard and curled around a pillow when he returns, and he has to consciously block that annoyingly affectionate warmth that floods him at the sight.

Fuck, he is screwed.

He sets about gently cleaning her up, ignoring her piercing stare. He knows her -- knows that she is carefully cataloguing every movement, every tick and twitch of his face. Funny that she spends so much time watching him, yet seems so woefully misunderstanding of whatever he allows to show in his expressions. She even manages to misunderstand when he isn’t shuttering his feelings at all.

The question is clear in her eyes before she asks, so he’s not surprised when she says, “You gonna kick me out now?”

His eyes flick up to hers, and he settles her with a hard stare.

She smiles, a little self deprecating. “I wouldn’t blame you…”

He can’t help the snort of derision, even when she looks a little wounded. Still, he says nothing. She can wallow in her discomfort a little while longer. He’s certainly not gonna help her out.

Small, lithe fingers pick at the pillow still in her arms. Her teeth worry at her lower lip, turning the skin there raw and speckled with red. He waits. He is nothing if not patient.

“I’m sorry.”

There it is. Don’t they say patience is a virtue?

His eyebrows shoot up. He watches her through long thick lashes, debating on how to respond when more words start to bubble out from her.

“I shouldn’t have… I should have… I never should have…” She flusters for a moment and then meets his eye. He wants to keep being angry, but all that looks back at him is vulnerability. “What I did was wrong. I felt backed into a corner, and I panicked. He took my kids… and I didn’t think I had any other choice but to give in to his demands. But I…” She blushes. “I just wanted something to remember you by. I didn’t think I would ever see you again. I didn’t plan to see you again. I _couldn’t_. That was the agreement.”

He fixes her with a look. “You know you coulda just talked to me about what was going on, yeah?”

She scoffs. “Oh please, because we are just so good at _talking_ , right?” A little shrug of her shoulder, then, “Besides, I tried to. I told you that he took my kids and I needed more money and you just… walked away.”

Yeah, not one of his finest moments. “Yeah, well…”

“Anyway, what I did was selfish. I never considered your feelings. I-I mean--” she stutters to a stop, eyes wide and horrified. “Not that I’m saying you have feelings. About me. For me. Any kind of--”

“Elizabeth.” His smile is affectionate, unrestrained. He can’t help himself. He takes her hand and laces his fingers with hers.

She watches him a moment, trying to smother her own smile. “I know we already asked 20 questions, but can I ask one more? Please?”

He levels her with a mock serious look, his lips twitching. “I dunno, can you?”

She rolls her eyes, but asks, softly, “Are you… is there anyone else?”

He feels a lance through his heart and his belly at the openness in her expression, the candor. It’s like he’s standing on the edge of a precipice, his fate in his own hands. He’s tempted to tease her, but he knows without a doubt that that will only drive her away again, and he didn’t carefully fish individual body parts out of a trash bag and go to the trouble of mailing them to her just to scare her off again.

He still almost can’t believe that shit worked.

He clears his throat. “Nah, mamí. Just you.”

It’s worth it, he thinks, because a fresh blush blooms across her cheek bones and her eyes crinkle above a growing, stretching grin. He watches the flush spread down her neck and is suddenly _very_ aware that they are both still naked. When he catches her eye again, her smile is knowing and mischief curls at its edges.

The reckoning is coming, but damn if he isn’t gonna enjoy this before it arrives.

**Author's Note:**

> I have both a fear of and proclivity to writing from Rio's POV, and here we are. Please come scream with me about this amazing show and this amazing ship at my tumblr: lunafeather.tumblr.com


End file.
